Page 4 of Hot Knot Summer
“Let’s just say it’s complicated.” He answers with a small smile that does absolutely nothing to minimize his appeal. “But I live in Whispering Grove.”
“Oh,” I say again, eloquent as ever. I want to ask what he does, but that would suggest I’m interested in conversation, which I’m definitely not. Instead, I reach for my water bottle, unscrewing the cap with perhaps more force than necessary.
“So, what’s your story?” he asks, ignoring myobvious attempts to end the conversation. “You don’t seem like the typical tourist heading to Whispering Grove.”
“What’s a typical tourist?” I counter.
“Retirees, honeymooning couples, outdoor enthusiasts with more gear than sense,” he lists, that almost-smile playing at his lips again. “You don’t fit the profile.”
“Maybe I’m an axe murderer scouting the area,” I suggest drily.
His mention of honeymooners twists something in my chest. This trip wasn’t supposed to be solo.
A full smile breaks across his face, and it’s like watching the sun emerge from behind storm clouds, sudden, dazzling, and slightly disorienting.
“If you are, you might want to work on your cover story. The puffy eyes and general aura of heartbreak aren’t very intimidating.”
I blink, caught between offense at his directness and surprise at his perception. “I could be devastated about all the people I’ve murdered.”
He chuckles, a rich sound that seems to reverberate in my chest. “Fair point. I’ll sleep with one eye open once we reach Whispering Grove.”
The plane suddenly drops, my stomach lurching as we hit an air pocket. I gasp, both hands immediately white-knuckling the armrests, including the one his arm occupies. My fingers inadvertently dig into his forearm, and I feel solid muscle beneath my panicked grip.
“Sorry about that, folks,” the captain’s voice comes over the intercom. “We’re experiencing some light turbulence. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts.”
Another stomach-dropping lurch, and I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to control my breathing. I hate turbulence. Absolutely hate it. It’s irrational but persistent, this fear that the plane is seconds from plummeting from the sky.
“Hey,” Atlas’s voice is low and steady near my ear. “It’s just air currents. Think of it like driving over small bumps on a road.”
“Small bumps don’t drop you a hundred feet in half a second,” I mutter through clenched teeth, eyes still firmly shut as the plane shakes once more.
“Look at me, Emma.”
It’s a gentle command that bypasses my brain and speaks directly to my Omega instincts, making me open my eyes.
His face is closer than I expected, that midnight gaze holding mine with calm assurance. “Breathe with me. In,”—he takes a deliberate breath—“and out.” He exhales slowly.
I find myself mimicking him, my breathing syncing with his without conscious thought. His scent envelops me, somehow both stimulating and calming, and I feel my death grip on his arm loosen slightly.
“There you go,” he murmurs. “The plane is designed to handle turbulence much worse than this. We’re completely safe.”
The rational part of me knows he’s right, but another part, the part currently drowning in woodsmoke, maple, and toasted sugar is just responding to the steady confidence in his voice. It’s infuriating how effective it is, how quickly my panic recedes under his attention.
I become acutely aware that I’m still clutching his arm and force myself to let go. “Sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed by my overreaction.
“Don’t be.” He grins. “You can use me as a stress ball anytime.”
There’s a subtle flirtation behind his words that sends a completely inappropriate tingle through me. I narrow my gaze.
“Do you practice that in the mirror? The whole calm, reassuring Alpha routine?”
Instead of being offended, he laughs, a sound so genuine it takes me by surprise. “Is it working?”
Despite myself, I feel a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “A little too well. It’s annoying.”
“I’ll try to be less effective next time,” he promises solemnly, but his gaze is dancing with amusement.
God, he’s charming. And that makes him dangerous. Chad had been charming, too, at first. All sweet words and attentive gestures until he’d secured me. Then came the subtle undermining, the casual dismissals of my work, the not-so-subtle hints that I should be grateful an Alpha like him was interested in an Omega like me. Classic manipulation that I, with allmy education and supposed intelligence, had fallen for hook, line, and sinker.
